I am
sitting in my favourite café – which has recently become even more favourite
with the efforts of an attentive new waiter – and enjoying
a nuss nuss (café au lait)when two smart, dark-clothed men arrive and sit down
at the table opposite me. My attention is alerted to them even more when one of
them places a pair of handcuffs on the table in front of him.
This
gives me my opener into the conversation: ‘Salaam aleikum’, I say peaceably enough,
‘shorta?’ (police)?
They
look briefly surprised, then nod and then one of them asks what I do?
‘Ana
brrgaga’ (I´m a spy) I reply, because it’s always good for a laugh and an intro
– especially with policemen. Again there is a moment of taken-abackness, and
then they both laugh and the same one (a cheekier one) says I can help them
with their work then …
Between
French and Darija we manage some limited discussion on our relative lines of
work, where I live, what I am doing there. Then comes the inevitable question: ‘chhal
f sa3a’ (how old are you)?’
Ninety-five,
I say. No! you only look 65, says the cheeky one. I am crushed. But my new waiter
friend in the café rushes to buoy me up: ‘No! you are only 35!’.
You´re
a lovely man I say to him, and ‘nta drif bissef’ (you are very polite) too.
He´s
a liar, says Mr Cheeky Policeman. ‘But of course you like him because liars are
sexy’ …
I
find this an interesting thought and say so. ‘It’s TRUE’, he insists. ‘Women
don´t like good men – they’re too boring.’
Coming
from a policeman I find this a very interesting comment indeed …
And
I decide that I am not going to tell them whether I agree with them or not.
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